<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Old Orange Flighsuit by XWings_and_History</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24140869">Old Orange Flighsuit</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/XWings_and_History/pseuds/XWings_and_History'>XWings_and_History</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston &amp; Michael Stackpole, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:08:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>436</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24140869</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/XWings_and_History/pseuds/XWings_and_History</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wedge takes a moment to reflect before the Battle of Exegol.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Rogue Podron Made Us Do It</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Old Orange Flighsuit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Old Orange Flightsuit</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>            Wedge Antilles, despite his best efforts to the contrary, once again found himself in the hanger bay of the cruiser <em>Home One,</em> staring out at a fleet preparing for battle.</p><p>            The thirty-odd years that had passed since this last happened had seen a number of changes in Wedge’s life, of course. He was a family man now – Norra and Snap and Karé had filled his life outside the squadron more than he’d ever thought possible. Ackbar, who had made this ship his home for years, was now lost to the stars. Certainly, no Rebel or New Republic fleet would ever have been welcome over the skies of Csilla, the icy blue orb over which the sprawling, hodgepodge fleet was massing. Even the Chiss had been shaken from their usual vaguely hostile neutrality by the threat of a reborn Emperor. The aches that sporadically tightened and twisted his body were less welcome markers to the passage of time.</p><p>            One thing remained the same, however. Wedge was once again dressed in a thoroughly broken in orange flightsuit. It was, along with their distinctive white and red color scheme, one of the vanities that had been allowed to Rogue Squadron as the rest of the New Republic Defense Force shifted to blues. Wedge had hung on to the thing when he retired, and kept it in the back of his closet as a souvenir. It had spent most of the last year in his duffel bag, carried from place to place while he and Norra recruited and trained pilots for the Resistance.</p><p>            The pair of footsteps approaching behind him stirred Wedge from his musings. Even though they were both into their 70s, Lando and Norra walked with brisk certainty that showed they were ready for the coming fight.</p><p>“You sure you don’t want a better seat, old buddy?” asked Lando.</p><p>            Wedge shook his head. He’d been offered a lengthy list of commands, from Janson’s <em>Tierfon Glory</em> to the Corellian and Adumari flagships. He’d refused them all. “No, that’s quiet alright,” Wedge said. “After all those years in the cockpit and in command, I’m done ordering people to their deaths. Today, it’s just me,” he looked at Norra and Lando. “And some friends that are crazy enough to let an old man grab a gun turret. Besides, it’s more than passed time for the next generation to step up.” He waved his arm broadly at the twenty- and thirty-somethings scrambling about the flight deck. He swore he recognized a family resemblance in a few faces.</p><p> </p><p>            “Besides, I think being responsible for another big loss might break me.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Why was the most famous pilot in the New Republic in the gunner's seat of the Falcon? Besides, Wedge needed to be sadder.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>